“We’re cutting Francesca Marano loose.”
“I admit she hasn’t exactly been helpful—I suspect there’s a few screws gone in her head—but we can still pursue several more avenues of inquiry.”
“We’re cutting her loose.”
She acknowledged the order with a nod. “Yes, sir.”
“Arrange her an escort home, and…” he pondered it a second “…assign a protective watch to her, but nothing overt. She doesn’t need to be aware an agent’s around.”
“You think she’s in danger?”
“I think there are a lot of things we don’t yet understand. I’m going to let her daughter speak to her while you get the protection set up.”
“Understood. I’ll start the process right away.”
He returned to the interrogation room, two steaming cups of coffee in hand, and slid one across the table as he sat. “You may not need one, but I do. War is not conducive to sleep.”
Isabela’s expression softened as she reached for the cup. “Thank you…and thank you for taking care of my mother.” Her eyes remained suspicious, however, as she took a sip then met his gaze. “I said I’ll answer your questions, and I will—but I have one first. You’re interrogating Caleb’s family…is my father here? If he’s not, don’t bother going to get him. I can assure you he doesn’t know a damn thing about any of us.”
He kept his expression scrupulously blank. “No, he isn’t.”
Her head cocked to the side, rich black curls falling to obscure half her face. “Why not? Unless you know Caleb hasn’t seen or spoken to him in twenty years. None of us have. But if you do then you knew my mother wouldn’t be of any help, yet you dragged her in here anyway.”
Yep, she was a sharp one. He clasped his hands on the table and leaned in slightly, not enough to be perceived as threatening. “Ms. Marano, I’ll try to answer your questions as well, but I need you to indulge me for a few minutes. Fair enough?”
She rolled her eyes at the ceiling and sank back in her chair. “Fine. Interrogate away.”
“Do you know where your brother is?”
“No.”
“When did you speak to him last?”
“Six days ago. I sent him a message after he was named a suspect asking if he was okay. He assured me he was, but said he might be unreachable for a while.”
“Unreachable? No one is unreachable these days.”
“Oh come on, surely you spy types possess ways to go off the grid?”
“Eh…well. Has he shared anything with you about the bombing of EASC Headquarters?”
“He said he didn’t do it—which I already knew.”
“How?”
“Because he’s my brother.”
Granted, it was a stupid question, if one the manual he didn’t read when joining Division twenty-two years ago said he was supposed to ask. “Of course. Has he said anything to you regarding the events of the night of September 24th?”
“I just told you, he said he wasn’t responsible for the bombing.”
“Not the bombing—regarding other events occurring that night.”
Her face screwed up in perplexity. “No….”
“What about the Metis Nebula?”
He received nothing but a blank look.
“And what about with respect to Alexis Solovy?”
She laughed; it carried a hard edge, doubtless brought on by the stress of hours of detention. “No, but he didn’t have to. From what I’ve seen on the news feeds, she’s his type.”
“Which is?”
“Smart. Capable. Beautiful. A space junkie. Look, he works for you. Shouldn’t you know all this about him?”
“Yes, he did—does—but regrettably I don’t know him personally.”
She waved toward the door in frustration. “Well somebody does, don’t they? Talk to your underlings or whoever. He isn’t some mysterious, shady loner—he’s one of you guys.”
“I’m afraid his supervisor is dead. He was murdered the same night as the EASC bombing.”
That shook her. She sat up straighter in her chair, yet her eyes lowered as she considered this information. “You’re not seriously suggesting Caleb was responsible.”
“I can’t really disc—”
“You’ve got yourself one clusterfain of a problem, don’t you? If you’re trying to figure out whether Caleb committed the bombing, then it means you didn’t order it—only everyone thinks you did. Now you have Intelligence agents dying on Senecan soil?” Her tone had started out acerbic, even accusatory, but by the end it had dropped in tenor. “What is going on here?”
“I’m doing my damnedest to find out. I believe your brother would be able to help a lot, if I could talk to him.”
“You mean arrest him.”
“No, I mean talk to him.”
A corner of her mouth curled up the slightest bit. “You don’t think he did it.”
“Personally? I—” A priority pulse asserted itself into his vision, diverting his attention…bloody hell.
He cleared his throat. “I apologize, Ms. Marano, but I’m required elsewhere right now. I’d like to continue this conversation, though, and will return as soon as possible.”
“I’m not free to leave yet? I’ve told you everything.”
“Please bear with us a little while longer. An agent will activate the panel here for you. If you have need of anything, press it and someone will be right in. I’ll also ensure dinner is delivered soon. I want to make your time here as comfortable as I can.”
“I—” her head shook, either in frustration or resignation “—thank you.”
CAVARE
* * *
Graham stared at the body in utter dismay. He’d call it shock, except he’d lost the ability to be shocked a month into the First Crux War.
The throat was slit in virtually the same manner as Volosk’s had been, except Nythal looked to have been struck from the front, whereas Michael’s murderer had approached from the rear. The scene contained the same complete absence of any forensic evidence which might lead them to a suspect.
The local police had been called off and Division had taken control of the investigation as soon as he learned of the murder. Now his own people worked around him, pretending to ignore his presence as he stood silently in the midst of their crime scene.
Everything Michael Volosk suspected—everything Caleb Marano claimed—was true.
A conspiracy existed surrounding the Summit assassination at the very least, but likely also with respect to the EASC Headquarters bombing. And if both those assertions were true, then there was a conspiracy surrounding the entire war. And at least one person in his own organization was involved in it.
Someone found out about the renewed investigation into Nythal and decided the man needed to be eliminated before he spilled any secrets. It was the sole explanation which fit all the events leading up to and including the ashen corpse lying in five liters of blood at his feet.
Bloody hell.
Volosk was killed because he refused to give up on the assassination investigation—whether the trigger was his possession of the autopsy report or his hounding of Nythal hardly mattered. Marano and Solovy were targeted because they were working to convince others there was a conspiracy—whether they were framed for the bombing for that reason or merely as convenient patsies hardly mattered.
There existed scant evidence for any of this, but he didn’t require evidence to be convinced; he knew it. His gut had rarely been wrong in his professional career, on or off the battlefield. And now he was angry.
He despised corruption, but corrupt government officials most of all. And while corruption for money was one thing, this corruption was costing lives. It had cost the life of a man he considered a friend as well as the lives of hundreds of civilians on Palluda and thousands of soldiers on both sides.
He didn’t have any intention of letting that sort of corruption stand.
After issuing a few instructions to the forensi
c team he headed back for Division. In order to root out this festering infection, he first needed to pour through Michael’s notes and Marano’s reports, to absorb everything they had discovered.
Then it would be time to pay a bill which had at last come due. It was the last thing he wanted to do today or tomorrow or any day, but it was time for a confession. His own.
10
EARTH
EASC HEADQUARTERS
* * *
LIAM O’CONNELL MOVED WITH careful restraint behind his desk. His hands clasped one another behind his back, each keeping the other in check. He worked to project the image of a calm yet authoritative leader he knew was required of him.
It was making his skin itch, as though invisible snakes slithered along the surface taunting him to explode in movement.
Holos projecting each of the Regional Commanders hovered above his desk. Replacements had not yet been named for the Earth-based EASC Board members who had been killed in the bombing; as such this was a Board meeting in substance if not in form. The traitor Solovy had not been invited.
He leveled a domineering glower at Admiral Rychen, the Northeastern Regional Commander. “We need to act swiftly to retaliate after Desna. Send a regiment to take their Bellici colony.”
“Perhaps we should consider retaking Desna first, General.”
His scowl shifted to a holo on the far end. “Foster, do you have a mission profile ready yet to retake Desna?”
The mealy-mouthed Northwestern Commander straightened his shoulders as if he were somehow proud. “Sir, the Senecans left behind a sizeable fleet to defend Desna. My forces are in a weakened state. I don’t believe I can spare the ships necessary to retake it at this time.”
Liam squinted, his brow tightening before he could prevent it. A headache began clawing at the back of his eyes. “I see.” He gestured at his recently-named replacement in the Southwestern Region. “Haraken, for God’s sake send Foster some ships so he can mount a respectable attempt at retaking one puny little planet.” His attention shifted again. “Rychen, attack Bellici.”
Rychen regarded him severely, refusing to be stared down. “O’Connell, you and I were in a meeting with the Prime Minister not six hours ago in which he instructed me to lead a broad blockade of the southern Federation border. Such an undertaking is going to take all my ships not on necessary patrols.”
Liam snorted. “Bellici is hardly larger than Desna. Are you telling me you can’t spare a solitary regiment to hit it?”
Rychen stared at him another second—then had the audacity to laugh. Liam’s chest constricted from the effort of holding back a rising tide of anger.
Rychen shifted forward, his holo giving the impression of pressing toward Liam. “General, have you learned nothing from the losses at Arcadia and Desna? The Federation has been quite busy these last two decades building up a sizable and formidable military. Unlike Desna, Bellici will be defended. I assure you it will take more than a regiment to seize the colony, and those ships will be busy implementing the Prime Minister’s orders.”
“Are you refus—”
The door to his office slid open. Miriam Solovy marched in wearing a grim expression, then arched an eyebrow at the holos. “Something I should know, General?”
“No. You have no right to barge into my office unannounced. Get out.”
Her eyes scanned the holos in what was surely false curiosity. “Given the current reduction in members, this looks suspiciously like a Board meeting—which is absurd, because were it actually a Board meeting I would’ve been requested to attend.” Her gaze settled coldly on him.
“It is not. I am simply consulting with the Regional Commanders.”
“Good. They need to hear this as well. I bear disturbing news. ANNIE has determined we have lost communications with the colony of Gaiae.”
His right hand leapt out of the grasp of his left, eager to be freed for motion. “So? Who gives a rat’s ass about a bunch of crazies in the middle of nowhere?”
“They may be a ‘bunch of crazies,’ but they possess a spaceport, and we cannot contact it. Nor can we contact any of its employees, any other organization or a single person inhabiting the planet, and that is a nontrivial matter. Given the planet’s proximity to the Metis Nebula, we have to consider the possibility they have come under attack from the alien armada.”
“There are no aliens, Miriam! Your traitorous bitch of a daughter invented them so her Senecan lover could get inside the building and plant his bombs.”
He wasn’t sure how or when she had managed to maneuver to the front of his desk and lean forcefully into it, but now her small frame threatened to tower over the desk, and him.
“I am warning you now, in front of witnesses—do not call my daughter a traitor again, or I will end you.”
The knuckles of his fist ground against the surface of the desk. “If she’s proven a traitor, you won’t be able to stop me.”
A throat clearing loudly broke the confrontation. Rychen continued before either of them were able to retort. “The data on the aliens did appear scientifically sound, according to both our scientists and those at the Astronomical and Space Science Department. God knows I don’t want it to be true, but the news—or rather lack thereof—from Gaiae represents a troubling coincidence.”
“You’re not seriously saying you believe this nonsense?”
“As the Commander for the region closest to the Metis Nebula, I would be negligent if I did not give the matter due consideration. You must recognize this.”
In the absence of a suitable reply he merely grunted.
Solovy had turned her back on him to face the holos. “Admiral Rychen, I realize your fleet is fully engaged instituting a blockade on the Federation border. Do you think there’s any way you could spare a single scout ship—maybe one currently out on patrol—to investigate the situation on Gaiae? They can try to reestablish proximity communications and perform a visual assessment of the situation.”
Rychen smiled at Solovy. “I have a scout ship currently in the far northeastern region which can be at Gaiae within the day.”
“Belay that mission, Rychen. If you don’t possess enough ships to go to Bellici, you don’t possess enough ships to go to Gaiae.”
Rychen’s hard eyes met his, and he was reminded why he considered the man dangerous.
“Respectfully, General, you do not have the authority to forbid me to send the ship.”
“Like Hell I don’t. I’m the Chairman of the—”
Solovy scoffed at him derisively. “Did you imagine the position of Chairman gave you ultimate authority over the galaxy? You should have asked Price Alamatto what it really entailed. Admiral Rychen is the Commander for the Northeastern Region. You remember what that means, don’t you?”
Rychen helpfully supplied the answer for him. “It means I command the region, which I intend to continue doing until such time as I am relieved or fall in battle. Admiral Solovy, I’ll keep you and the Board informed regarding what my scout ship discovers. Now this meeting has run long, and it seems I have a blockade to implement.”
Liam managed to stutter out a “Dismissed” as Rychen’s holo went dark. His teeth ground together as he pivoted to deal with Solovy—but she too was already gone.
11
PORTAL PRIME
UNCHARTED SPACE
* * *
NO DRAGONS WERE IN SIGHT as Caleb approached the mountainous terrain a third time. Perhaps the supply of dragons had run out and their masters hadn’t yet found time to fab new ones.
He chuckled to himself; it came out ragged and raw. He was feeling a bit punch-drunk and more than a little reckless—but reckless was the last thing he needed to be right now, so he worked to compartmentalize the emotions rampaging through his head and ripping into his chest. Focus.
He set the Siyane to the ground a hundred meters from the start of the mountains and took thirty seconds to splash water on his face, guzzle an energy drink and retrieve the Daemon f
rom where it had landed against the cabin wall. Then he collected several items before activating the hatch and exiting the ship.
A mild breeze drifted down the slope. He’d want a jacket, but he was getting ahead of himself. He jogged as close as he dared to where he believed the barrier to be and stopped. By now his cybernetics had done a decent job of taking the edge off the injuries inflicted by the dragon, and he merely noticed a twinge in his shoulders and a dull ache in his right thigh.
There was no visual sign of a barrier in any portion of the spectrum his ocular implant analyzed.
He palmed the frozen muffin he’d taken from the kitchen, wound his arm back and hurled it into the air. It sailed for fifty meters or so, hit the ground, bounced twice and rolled to a stop low on the slope of the mountain.
The barrier was without a doubt closer than the slope, but he didn’t dare approach yet. Instead he pulled the portable oscilloscope out of his pocket. He’d made sure she kept a backup onboard, as he was fairly certain he was about to lose this one. He cocked his arm and sent it flying after the muffin.
It tumbled end over end for thirty meters—then vanished.
He discerned no flicker as one would see with a human-created force field and no detectable boomerang. The device was simply gone. He imagined it now lay on the grass several hundred kilometers behind him.
So the barrier was triggered by technology, which explained why both the dragon and the muffin could pass through but the ship and the oscilloscope could not. Still, he had a sneaking suspicion it was more complicated. Time to find out.
The next item he had brought was a serrated knife from the kitchen. Having a better idea of the demarcation line now, he stepped closer and sent the knife through the air. It spun forward to land short of the muffin but well beyond the point where the oscilloscope had vanished.
Artificially-created materials were allowed. Only tech was taboo.
He removed his kinetic blade from the latch on his pants. The hilt was cool in his hands, the blade inactive. He hesitated this time. There was no backup for the blade; if it got rejected he didn’t have another. But this was the sole safe way to discover the triggering parameters.
Vertigo: Aurora Rising Book Two Page 8
